


Liaison

by This_is_your_Heichou_speaking



Series: Cross My Heart [23]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, But non-explicit, But you're not sitting through it, Chan, Going on to fifteen, Harry is fourteen, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Like it happens, M/M, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 07:10:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13359144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/This_is_your_Heichou_speaking/pseuds/This_is_your_Heichou_speaking
Summary: Unbetaed.





	Liaison

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed.

 

The first time, Harry had been painfully young - a child in the hands of a man. He hadn't known who the man was, but it was clear to him that it wasn't true the other way around, because it took one look and the man's eyes widened in instant recognition, taking in the sight of black hair that hadn't quite covered the scar on his forehead. It should have mattered, should have changed his und and it would have, had the stranger not seemed utterly unconcerned a minute later.  
  
He'd been fourteen when they first met, Harry running from a house that wasn't a home and panicking over what to do, where to go, when he'd run into a tall, dark-haired man who'd steadied him and then recognised him. That's how Harry knew he was a wizard too, and though he wondered what another wizard was doing in a place as dull as Little Winging, what really grabbed his attention was the way the man held onto his arms - hands large and strong - and the way that observation made him feel warm low in his stomach.  
  
The man took him home with him, told Harry to call him Bas, and showed him exactly what kind of activities two people partook in when in private. Harry lost his virginity that summer, spent his fifteenth celebrating with a man he'd come to know intimately since. And even though he felt guilty for probably leaving his friends and teachers to worry, he was also angry enough to decide that - after sticking him at the Dursleys with no contact after he'd literally seen Voldemort rise and Cedric die - they kind of deserved to worry a while longer.  
  
Bas was much older than him - probably old enough to be his father and definitely old enough that their whole relationship was very, very illegal but Harry had never met someone as absolutely gorgeous as him, as incredibly interesting as him. Bas was strong and handsome and, despite being fourteen when he'd given himself to him, Harry couldn't find it in himself to regret it. Of course, he hadn't known who his lover really was then.  
  
Bas was tall, even when compared to the average man, and with Harry being so young and small, even for his age, he towered over him easily. Harry didn't mind it - in fact, he loved it, enjoyed the lack of power and responsibility that came with it. Harry could feel his lover's strength in his every move, restrained and controlled, and the feel of it - the idea that Bas could so easily hurt him and didn't - was absolutely addictive. That summer Harry learned what attraction was really like, how heavy desire really felt in his stomach and his groin, and decided that he definitely preferred men. In particular, he definitely preferred _older_  men.  
  
And that was all it was at first - exploration, fun, and perhaps this was Harry's rebellious side, a quality he'd not been allowed to express anywhere before. But then Harry did the stupidest thing someone in this situation possibly could. He fell in love. And though Bas seemed fond of him, Harry only had to see him once, clothed in black, to know that he could never love him back. He didn't need to see his face to recognise him from behind that white mask, only had to see his familiar movements, his cold eyes, to know that the man stood for everything Harry stood against, and that despite his summer it would take one word from Voldemort for the man to turn against him.  
  
It was a betrayal of a sort that Harry shouldn't have felt. They held no allegiance to each other, so why did Harry feel so betrayed? It was what he told himself late into the nights of his fifth year, unable to sleep for heartache and the stinging of his hand. It didn't help. And then he was running to the Ministry because _Voldemort had Sirius_  and he couldn't stand it if he lost the only real family he had, no way. It was stupid - who'd ever heard of riding _thestrals_  to the Ministry - but there was nothing else he could do. There was nobody to rely on.  
  
Of course it was a trap, and of course he fell right into it. And he hated himself, because a part of him had guessed and _still_  gone, hoped against hopes that he'd see _him_ , finally speak to him after that one look in Hogsmeade that told Harry who Bas was, and told Bas - _Rabastan!_  - that he knew. He'd put his friends into this situation, into danger, and he'd never forgive himself. And yet still he couldn't help looking as he ran, eyes roaming the unassuming, identical doors of the Department of Mysteries.  
  
He'd been running down an isolated corridor when he was grabbed from behind and pulled through a door before he could even blink. He turned and gasped, eyes wide as he stared at Rabastan Lestrange.  
  
Lover. Murderer.  
  
He couldn't help the fear, the impulse to back away at the sight of the bone-white mask and frigid blue eyes. The man laughed bitterly, and as he raised a hand Harry flinched and looked down. They were silent like that for a while, until Harry finally found it in himself to look back. Rabastan had taken off his mask and was staring at him, a sad look on his face.  
  
"You're trembling," he said, laying a hand softly on Harry's arm, and Harry let him this time, unable to look away.  
  
"I'm scared," he admitted. The man swallowed, and Harry felt like his eyes were burning. "Are you going to kill me?" he asked, voice feather soft and gentle, like he wasn't speaking words of murder. Like he wasn't both terrified and incredibly, undeniably _happy_.  
  
The sounds of the fight were far away, so far that Harry couldn't hear them over the sound of their breathing, and the rush of blood in his ears. They were in a bubble of their own, separate for just this moment. The stillness held, tension thickening as Rabastan said nothing, and then-  
  
"No," he admitted. He dropped his eyes, refusing to look into Harry's eyes, and understanding spread through him like ice.  
  
"I see," he said, and maybe he sounded like he was going to cry, but who here was going to judge? If Rabastan had wanted to humiliate him, he'd have done it long ago. "Voldemort would prefer me alive, wouldn't he?" he continued. Rabastan flinched as if he'd been struck, his fingers tightening across Harry's forearm just for a moment. Harry made a sound, and neither of them were sure if it was a laugh or a sob. "Are you going to take me to him?"  
  
"I don't want to," Rabastan whispered. Harry shook his head hard.  
  
"Not what I asked," he told him. "But I wouldn't expect you to choose me over him." With those words, he tried to pull himself out of his lover's - _ex-lover's_  - grasp, but Rabastan refused to let go.  
  
"No, Harry no," he murmured, pulling him in closer. "I don't want to choose, I _can't_ -"  
  
"What do you want from me?" Harry asked him, gazing pleadingly up at him. "I don't understand, do you want me to choose _for_  you? Forgive you for _lying_ -"  
  
"I didn't mean to!" Rabastan shouted. "I didn't- I mean, maybe at first I did, but Harry, you were just so _innocent_. So _fragile_  and trusting and how could I possible give you up then? After you'd looked at me like that, with those eyes of yours. Harry," he gasped, moving his hands to cup the boys face. "I don't think you know just how expressive your eyes are. I don't think you understand just how little they can hide from me, Harry."  
  
"So what?" Harry whispered. Rabastan was growing closer, closer until their lips could touch each other if Harry just _pushed_  but-  
  
"So what?" he said again. "What do they tell you, _Bas_? And why does it matter?" But he knew what Rabastan was saying, and the shame and pain of it was radiating out from his chest now, out and out until he felt little twinges in his ears and fingers.  
  
Rabastan leant down and kissed him softly, once, twice. He moved up, laid a kiss on his nose and forehead and then whispered, "they can't hide anything from me, my sweet, _sweet_  boy. I knew, before even _you_  realised, just how much you loved me."  
  
The words had an immediate affect on Harry, and he tried to push the man off him, moving wildly from side to side to free himself of the grip, but the man wrapped his arms around Harry's body and held him to his chest tightly, laying his cheek on top of Harry's head. "How then," he said, loud enough that Harry could hear it even over the sound of his struggling, "how then could I possibly give you up?"  
  
And Harry stopped struggling, and for a minute he couldn't breathe as the tears rolled fat and heavy down his cheeks. "You _lied_  to me!" he cried. "You did! You- why didn't you just _tell_  me?"  
  
"You know why, my lovely," Rabastan said soothingly. "I'm so sorry. I'll keep you safe, I promise. I'll keep you safe forever."  
  
Harry calmed, and pushed way just enough to look the older man on the eye. "You can't promise that," he said hoarsely. Then again, "I don't expect you to _choose_ -"  
  
"I am," the man interrupted. "I am. I'm choosing this. I can't help you, Harry. I can't fight with you. But I'll keep you safe, even if it costs me everything."  
  
"It could cost you _your life_ -" Harry started, appalled, but was interrupted once again as Rabastan leant his forehead against his.  
  
"Shhhh," he murmured, closing his eyes. "Don't worry about a thing, okay? I'll take care of you."  
  
And Harry, despite everything, couldn't help but feel like this was the safest place in the world.


End file.
